virginia + spring

Spring is starting to come to the hills.

This year, we have been beset by a relentless sequence of storms, which have unleashed furious rain, thunder, lightning, and wind. This time last year, I was basking daily in the warm April sun (or at least that's how I imagine it), so it's been difficult at times with storm clouds never lurking far away.

However, April showers bring May flowers, as they say. If nothing else, life has suddenly, spontaneously emerged here in the hills. Seemingly overnight, trees, bushes, plants of all sorts have returned to being the most vibrant of green. This rush of color is at once comforting and overwhelming. After a barren winter, devoid of much color at all, colors bursting every which way makes it seem like I'm in an entirely different place.

Last weekend, I went to Roanoke, Virginia, to visit my cousin Emily and to run a half-marathon. Graciously, the sun shone down throughout the duration of my drive, and I got to see the hills in all the glory of early spring. As if sponged with a brush and oil paints, the hills were a perfect patchwork. Some trees still wore the spindly brown of winter, while an equal number shouted in the bright hue known as "spring green." Interspersed with these leafy trees were those who were already in bloom, and purple and fuschia completed the palette as I zoomed along the highway.

The most direct way to get to Roanoke involves taking US-33, heading southeast from Athens until it intersects with I-77 going south. This becomes the West Virginia Turnpike and in one of those things that always snows me, for a while runs concurrently with I-64 (even numbered highways go east-west! east-west!). There are a number of routes the clever West Virginian can take to avoid the tolls, and I've done it before, but again I opted to pony up the $6 to take in the mountain views at 70 mph. I-77 is still one of the most scenic freeways I've driven. Just north of the border with Virginia, I exited the freeway, finding US-460 (and the WV visitors' center - DOT road map, acquired!) in Princeton, W. Virginia.

Although I had previously adventured to Roanoke, I'd never taken this particular route, and I loved every mile of it. The hills continued to be mottled with spring beauty, and the rain mercifully held off for a few more hours. There were entire stretches of this highway where I saw no other cars, and I was able to ruminate peacefully about history: both of Virginia and my own personal adventures.

I kicked off the Summer of Adventures last Memorial Day weekend. A few days before, I bought a tent and took myself on a driving tour of West Virginia's embracing hills. After a day, I realized how close I was to Roanoke, and that I hadn't seen my cousin Emily since 2004, so I showed up on her doorstep! This visit was a little bit less spontaneous, and I am grateful that I got to spend two-plus days with her. Nonetheless, this trip held special significance as I retraced the routes that instilled in me a game-changing need for adventure, and appreciation of flying solo.

I made good time on US-460, and was able to pull of the highway in Blacksburg, Virginia, for a spell. Blacksburg is a college town similar to Athens, relatively small, nestled in the hills, with a big university presence but also more hippies than you might expect. And on this Friday afternoon, the weather cooperating still, it was absolutely gorgeous. I tooled around there, met the folks at the health food store, and hopped back on the highway, which soon led me to I-81 and Roanoke.

I was thrilled to see Emily, and she played host fabulously. We enjoyed a quiet evening that first night, a healthy and carb-heavy dinner preceded by a quick jaunt around town, Emily pointing out sights left and right and narrating where I'd be running the next day. Even as darkness descended, the air was warm and the breeze gentle.

I awoke early the next morning to the sounds of a downpour. I stretched, dressed, and ate a ricecake with peanut butter while poring over the Roanoke Times and hoping beyond all hope that the rain would cease. No such luck. Emily dropped me off, and I huddled near the starting line with the other 800-odd runners. By the time the race began, we were all nearly soaked. The rain never let up beyond a light drizzle.

The course of the Blue Ridge Marathon is purposely hilly, and I don't blame it one bit; why would you run in such beautiful terrain without rewarding yourself with these stunning mountains? Accordingly, the first four-ish miles lead the runners straight uphill, leading to the top of Mill Mountain, Roanoke's iconic landmark. At this point, the marathoners continued in one direction, while us 13.1-milers veered away, starting to make our way down the mountain on a muddy, gravel-covered foot path. The dense trees provided intermittent respite from the ever-present rain.

The rest of the course took us all around Roanoke, over and under every bridge, through parks, around the downtown, up and down as hills swelled in neighborhoods. All along the course, Roanoke residents, race volunteers, family and friends decked out in rain gear packed the sidewalk to offer their support. Emily, for her part, dashed around Roanoke and was able to cheer me on at four different locations!

For the first few miles, I was able to sidestep the major puddles, ensuring that my feet stayed somewhat dry. Around mile 8, I inadvertently stepped fully into an ankle-deep puddle, and from then, it was game over. I started to get hyped up over the rain, cheering loudly whenever it began to pour more, and in general "soaking" up Mother Nature's soaking of us. Any runner will tell you, too, it could have been a lot worse; 56 and rainy is preferable to 90 and sunny.

About a mile before the finish, the wind picked up and the rain began to spray in all directions. I let out a whoop and sped toward the finish, nestled in Roanoke's scenic downtown. Emily was there to high-five me at the end, and the announcer read my name and bib number with enough time to call out my name as I crossed the blue mat marking the race's end. I jumped with joy; what a race! And I finished in much less time than I'd anticipated, especially considering the arduous circumstances!

Emily and I spent the next 24 hours enjoying Roanoke and one another's company. We had a lavish lunch at a local Mediterranean restaurant while waiting for the rain to subside. All of those delightful flowering plants conspired to bestow upon me some rather unpleasant seasonal allergies, so we paid a visit to the Roanoke food co-op to replenish my stash of herbal allergy remedies.



Eventually, the rain ceased for a few hours and we enjoyed a game of Scrabble on the porch, squinting into the sunshine and not feeling the slightest bit sad about it. I hit the road the next morning, heading into skies that were yet again sunny - what a great morning to run thirteen miles, I laughed to myself.

which is the loudest state?

IlliNOIS(e) is the loudest state! Obviously.

Hello, adventure friends! Last weekend I went on a two-part adventure to Illinois to pay a visit to my youngest sister, Laura. She goes to school at University of Illinois, and pretty much double-majors in kicking ass and taking names.

U of I is located in Champaign-Urbana, which is (what those of us from the wide-open west like to call) an easy six-hour drive from Athens. When you drive there, it's actually more like five hours, because you get to go back in time by entering Central Time. What? It doesn't work that way? Whatever.

I had planned to visit Laura for a weekend, but then I figured, well, as long as I'll be there Friday, I may as well leave Thursday. And since I don't want to leave Sunday morning, I may as well stay through Sunday afternoon, at which point I may as well prolong my departure until Monday morning. So it was that my "weekend" in Urbana turned out to span five days.

Thursday the sun shone brightly in Athens, temporarily quelling my fears of a stormy weekend. The forecasts predicted one spring squall after another. I bumbled around town for a few hours, and left in the late afternoon (though the sun was still high in the sky - thank you, daylight savings time!) to Columbus for the first leg of my journey. I met up with a group of friends in downtown Columbus, and stayed with a delightful duo of ladies. In the morning, I found Columbus' bike path which I had previously not known even existed and enjoyed a crisp morning run along the Olentangy River. The rain mercifully held off, though gray clouds loomed. This concludes my first-ever experience in Columbus where I a) did not get lost and b) actually enjoyed being there the entire time. Onward!

Friday morning, I effortlessly found I-70 heading west (I tell you, this is an accomplishment. The freeways in Columbus are endlessly confusing). I knew that it would be a relatively easy route to Urbana from then on, but visions of adventures past danced in my head, and I hurriedly consulted my atlas to find an alternate byway. Just east of Springfield, I ducked off the interstate, finding US-40 (which traces I-70 across the country). This was a detour that took about twice as long as I'd expected, because I didn't realize that US-40 becomes a surface street through Springfield. I did enjoy the parts of the drive that took me through the flat, endless farmland of western Ohio.


Near Dayton, I mercifully returned to the interstate, zooming onward into Indiana. Indiana is one of those states that I never take the time to slow down in; its proximity so close to the end of whatever journey I'm on doesn't help its case any. Or, in this situation, Indiana was the only thing between me and lunch with my sister.

Several interstates meet around Indianapolis, where, naturally, summer road-construction season is already in full swing. I-465 makes a circuit around the city; I-65 winds through the middle in a somewhat north-south direction. I-70 enters from the east, and somehow both I-70 and I-74 emerge heading west. This means that there are at least three different options for how to get through Indy. I tried one way heading west (I-70W to I-65N to I-465S to I-74W - not recommended) and another on the way back (I-74E to I-465S to I-70E - much better). That complicated matters a bit, but eventually I was freed of the metropolis and safely en route, once again, to the cornfields of eastern Illinois.

The University of Illinois boasts some 40,000 students, making it about the size of University of Oregon and Ohio University (the two universities that I've lived in a town with) combined. It's massive. Every street around the campus is packed with towering student apartment complexes; that is, aside from the many streets lined with eateries, bars, shops, and other student-themed businesses. The campus itself covers several acres, including the Morrow Plots, a highly protected experimental cornfield.

Walking around the University of Illinois felt, to me, like being in a movie about the Typical College Experience, as it was swarming with undergrads decked out in the school's blue and orange, relaxing on the quad, and doing other such typical-student-y things.

Over the course of the weekend, Laura and I enjoyed better-than-average (for the Midwest) Mexican food, as well as the much-coveted Thai food. She performed Friday and Saturday night in her theater group's production of "Arsenic and Old Lace." It so happened that it was Moms' Weekend at UI, so I got to perform in my role as stand-in mother.

Saturday morning, storm clouds threatened to unleash a thunderstorm in all its Midwest fury. Laura had a reception for the Mathews scholarship, one of the many that assists her in her double-major (with a minor in general awesomeness). We ate beautifully cut-up fresh fruit with small fancy forks and sipped orange juice out of goblets while the chancellor and scholarship donors hobnobbed among the distinguished students, of which Laura is one and I was the beaming mother.



We explored downtown Urbana for a few hours afterward, and as we emerged from the health-food store (our bags burgeoning with tasty snacks) suddenly - it was summer. There wasn't a cloud in the sky, and the sun beat down, warming the air to an easy 75 degrees. I responded by promptly going on one of the longest jogs of my life, pretty much around the entire perimeter of Urbana. For a few miles, I jogged along with red barns and neverending cornfields to my right, and enormous big-box shopping marts on my left-hand side. Midwestern suburbia at its finest!

I also succeeded in getting my first (and what I am determined will by my only) sunburn of the year. I decided then and there that it was summer and that was that.

The sun cooperated, waking me up early Sunday with beaming rays whose warmth I could feel from my spot on Laura's couch beneath a window. Her biology class was planning a nature walk that afternoon, which was really a perfect activity for a sunny spring Sunday. Again, as it was moms' weekend, I was easily accommodated as a guest on this field trip. I enjoyed learning about the plant life of Illinois, and eagerly embraced the opportunity to explore a newly budding wooded park.

The weather continued to appease me for the rest of the weekend - until Sunday night. I woke up several times as an enormous thunderstorm raged outside. Claps of thunder rolled on for what seemed like minutes, and bolts of thunder lit up the night sky, one after the other. The storm's fury had died down by the time I was to hit the road Monday morning, but still, I was reluctant to go.